Posts Tagged ‘greek helpfulness’

More Medical Experiences

Sunday, September 6th, 2009

We had our first experience of Greek hospitals a few weeks ago. In fact in one day Ken visited the dentist, doctor then hospital!

The local hospital in Kalamata is much smaller than we were used to in the UK. Our visit was because Ken woke up one morning with and found the white of one eye was suddenly half red – it looked more serious than a single burst blood vessel so we wanted to get it checked out. Our local doctor was unable to do this, lacking the specialist equipment needed to make a thorough examination of the eye, so suggested we go on up to the hospital.

Accident and emergency always conjures up the image of a waiting area crowded with all manner of challenges, and a wait of many hours. So before setting off on the 40 minute drive to the hospital we fortified ourselves with toast and coffee, then packed refreshments and reading material and off we went. The first pleasant surprise was a car park with ample free spaces – and no charges.

For a hospital in a tourist area we were a little surprised to find there was no signage other than Greek, and our first mistake was to follow the sign for the emergency department, which turned out to be for motorists and took us on a walk halfway round the outside of the building. Once inside we asked for directions, which were given mostly in Greek as few of the administrative staff spoke English.

We quickly got lost, and our second set of directions sent us to the second floor, where we found ourselves in the ophthalmology department. But unfortunately the doctor wasn’t there, so we were redirected down to a clinic on the ground floor. This turned out to be just inside the entrance nearest the car park, so we’d managed to walk right through the building. We were directed to some chairs, and settled down to wait.

After a little while we decided to check we were in the right place, and that we didn’t need to check in anywhere. It was a good job we did – the eye clinic was just closing and the doctor was about to leave. We almost ended up waiting for the wrong type of doctor. But the clinic’s closing didn’t mean we were too late. We were directed back up to the second floor, where the same doctor appeared a few minutes later.

After a wait of maybe 10 minutes more Ken was seen, his eyes examined and the ‘all clear’ given. The whole visit was over more quickly than we had anticipated, and with much less fuss than we would have experienced in the UK. There was no form filling. In fact, all Ken was asked for was his name and age (medical records are not really kept by doctors here in Greece). And he didn’t need to produce his IKA book to prove his entitlement to treatment.

As a child I spent many hours in hospital eye departments, both as an outpatient and an inpatient. In the last few years I also visited hospital a few times, including an operation as a day patient. No-one likes the idea of visiting a hospital, but our experience so far suggests that a Greek experience would be no worse than – and perhaps better than – a UK one.

But we have no more plans to put this to the test!

Eyes seem to receive good care in the Greek medical system

Eyes seem to receive good care in the Greek medical system

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Gardening Update

Sunday, June 14th, 2009
Almost a foot long in less than a week - and still growing fast!

Almost a foot long in less than a week - and still growing fast!

We seem to have hit the period of endless hot, dry days faster this year than last. One day it was cool, the next it was like a wall of heat, and it hasn’t eased up much since. There does seem to be more wind though, sometimes with a cool edge but at others a hot, dusty breeze that feels like we’re sitting in the path of a hairdryer. A couple of nights ago a strong wind – reminiscent of winter – started in the evening and continued through the night. But with it came lower temperatures and I gladly slept with the windows open. It was beautifully cool, the breeze wafting the bed sheet like fingers gently massaging my back.

My intention had been to get up around 6am the following morning to water the vegetable garden before the heat of the day kicked in (it can be uncomfortably hot by 8am), but as it was still windy I decided to give it a miss. Better to water the ground slowly later, I thought, than get myself thoroughly soaked as the wind whipped the spray everywhere. So at 8am I was out there, working slowly among the plant with the hosepipe, doing my best to water the soil and not the plants themselves.

For some reason I was preoccupied when I finished the task, and I forgot to turn off the water at the main tap. Unfortunately I didn’t discover this until around 12 hours later, as I put my foot down and sank quickly into the muddy ground along the side of the plot. Oops!

Despite these mishaps, our gardening experiment continues with mixed results.

On the positive side every type of vegetable we’ve planted is growing, although we’ve lost a few individual plants here and there. The speed of growth is surprising, and we’re already faced with dilemmas like what to do with 5 large cucumbers, all ready at the same time. But that’s where non-growing friends come in. So far we’ve harvested our own lettuce, French beans, cucumber, courgettes, strawberries and tomatoes.

Courgettes are also coming along well

Courgettes are also coming along well

The heat is taking its toll, and lettuce and carrots are protesting by bolting. A day is a long time in a sunny garden, and we’re learning the hard way about the need for regular feeding, as the water quickly dilutes the impact of the feed. We need to rig up some sort of shade – olive netting over some bamboo poles should do the trick – to try and give the plants some respite in the afternoons, otherwise I think we could lose more to the sapping heat.

The only times of day when manual work is comfortable are early morning (preferred by me) and late evening (preferred by Ken). The ground is so hard – a combination of heavy soil and lack of moisture – it’s difficult to dig down more than a few inches, and gardening tools can easily get damaged. The weeds are, obviously, comfortable in this environment and grow so fast that we need regular weeding sessions among the vegetables to keep ahead of the game.

Container growing seems to be a good idea, giving us more control over watering, feeding and shading options. We already have carrots, strawberries and potatoes in containers, and may have a go with a few lettuce and tomatoes.

Potatoes seem happier in containers where we can almost see them growing

Potatoes seem happier in containers where we can almost see them growing

Although we haven’t had particular pest problems (a few holey leaves is all) we’re also trying some companion planting, putting basil and oregano in amongst the crops. Basil is also finding a use as insect repellent (pots by windows and doors) and to treat insect bites. The oregano was collected from where it grows wild in the hills, in the company of our landlord’s mother. She’s 70, but put me to shame as she climbed up and down the steep slopes like a mountain goat, gathering bags full of herbs, most of which she apparently gives away.

As if caring for our own patch during the few comfortable hours of the day wasn’t enough, I seem to have become unofficial gardener for the rest of the site where we live. We had already offered to water the flower beds each night, which made sense as we were already out there watering our own stuff, and another 15 minutes or so would make no difference.  But then in casual conversation I said I was tempted to weed an enclosed bed where the flowers were fighting for space, and suddenly I was being given requests (I’d like that one moved somewhere else please, and these things in tubs need to go somewhere – put them wherever you want) and presented with new plants to incorporate into the beds!

Actually I don’t mind at all. It’s a good way to get some exercise, which is a rare thing these days, plus it means we get to learn more quickly about which plants will grow best in this climate. Another bonus is the opportunity to take whatever cuttings we want, which means we can start to build up stock for our own garden now, and without the expense of buying plants.

And it’s another example in Greek trust: our landlady gave us the keys to her pick-up yesterday, phoned ahead to the garden centre to say we were coming, and told us to go and get whatever we wanted – on her account.

It’s also confirmed for us that we don’t want extensive flower gardens ourselves. Lots of stuff in pots, and ground cover plants spilling onto gravelled areas makes much more sense – and much less work!

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The Swings and Roundabouts of Greek Bureaucracy

Sunday, May 31st, 2009
Greek bureaucracy is much like swings and roundabouts

Greek bureaucracy is much like swings and roundabouts

Sometimes it seems like Greek systems are designed so they could never be understood by someone who isn’t Greek.

For me this creates a dilemma. I like to be able to sort things for myself: to understand how to do things then get them done without having to rely on someone else to do it for me. I’m not a control freak (although I do have my moments) but I know I’m an intelligent human being who is perfectly capable of dealing with things, and of understanding them. But here we are in Greece  where it’s not always that easy.

Take taxes.

We know we have to make a tax declaration even though we don’t don’t expect to pay any tax yet. We first spoke to a local accountant last spring and explained our situation, conscious of a potential deadline. ‘Come back in January’ he said, which we did, to be told ‘Come back in March’ which left us wondering why we’d been told January. ‘Come back in May’ was the next offering.

Lulled into a feeling that we were going to be sent away on every visit, and knowing we have little, if any tax liability at this stage, we didn’t rush back at the beginning of May but sauntered in mid-month. This time we were told the deadline was the end of May, a fact we would have liked to know earlier, but clearly weren’t to be worried with. It also appeared that we should be sponsored by a Greek person, and that having non-resident status could be better for our tax situation. An interesting point, since we needed a tax number and residence permit to buy a car and to buy land. No-one asked us for a Greek sponsor when we applied for the tax number. And all we had to do to get residence permits was go to the police station and ask…

We were also told that we need to supply information regarding our rental arrangement, depending on how we want to deal with it – we do have a choice, it seems. We can declare that we are renting, in which case we need to show monies paid each month and our landlord’s tax details. Or we can choose not declare, in which case we still need to provide our landlord’s tax number, but in this instance to indicate whose ‘guest’ we are. Seems the tax authorities are happy to accept that people accommodate others for months, even years, without taking any payment for it (and even when they’re not family).

The next step was to discuss this with our landlord. We didn’t mind either way, but there could be a tax liability for her if we declare the rental, so we felt it should be her choice. Her reaction wasn’t the one we expected. Yes, she was happy to give us her tax number but she was more concerned that we were going to someone else to submit our taxes in the first place. ‘Give me your papers’, she said, and I’ll put them through my accountant.

‘But if you do it all for us we won’t understand the process’, I said, ‘and what happens if you’re not around in the future?’ To her credit she fully understands this viewpoint, even though it’s not the one taken by every foreign resident, many of whom are happy to hand everything over and not think about it. She’s agreed to explain the paperwork to us, and said that once we are settled in our own home we can – of course – do this ourselves, although she would still be happy to provide this service, as she does for other people.

Then there’s bank accounts:

When we first arrived we opened an account with one of the local banks, managing to get money transferred and a cash card issued without any help. The latter involved persuading the cashier to get our card sent to the bank for collection since we didn’t have our own individual postbox. But as interest rates in the UK headed towards zero and the exchange rate also headed resolutely in a downwards direction, we decided it was time to minimise our future losses and get our remaining funds over to Greece.

The question to our landlady was simple (so we thought): can you please help us to look at Greek banking websites and work out which is the best option for our savings. The involvement we were seeking was clearly defined: help us understand the system so we can make a decision and act.

The solution was different. Once again we found ourselves caught up, being helped beyond what we had asked for. This time our landlady spoke with a friend of hers who worked in a local bank, and also mentioned our request to her father (in passing we assume though you can never be sure) who told her of offers in other banks. The upshot was that a few days later we found ourselves being introduced to our landlady’s friend and being offered a savings rate that was very competitive.

And even though we were happy to accept the first rate offered she kept nudging it up a little higher until we knew we had an excellent rate. Something we wouldn’t have achieved without our landlady’s help. We would never have known that it is possible to negotiate an individual savings rate, different from the standard advertised one. And even if we did know, we wouldn’t have been able to achieve it without a Greek go-between.

Okay, the final decision to deposit the money was ours, but who’s going to get up and walk away from the best interest rate on offer?

So it really is a swings and roundabouts situation. To find your way around the intricacies and quirks of Greek officialdom is challenging for a non-Greek (and many Greeks as well I’d guess). Going it alone is possible, but sometimes being willing to give up some of that control gets you the better result.

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Let’s Speak Greek!

Sunday, May 10th, 2009

Some English speakers believe this one language is sufficient for all their needs, especially since English is so widely spoken. It’s possible to travel to, even live in other countries without learning their language because you can rely on finding English speakers anywhere, is their argument. But the widespread use of English can be a real hindrance if you do want to learn another language.

A few days ago we took our car to the garage for its annual service. I started to explain – in simple Greek (the only kind I know) – that the car was now 1 year old and ready for a service. I wanted to check whether this was just an oil change as suggested in the service booklet. Part way through my dialogue the salesman interrupted me to say ‘I do understand English’.

‘I know’, I replied, but I’m trying to learn Greek’. He kindly let me finish, and we soon had to revert to English anyway because my ability to take a conversation beyond the basics is still ‘in progress’, and my ability to  understand, especially when the Greeks speak at their normal speed, is not that good. You can almost hear the cogs slowly grinding away in my brain, trying to process what I’ve heard into something I can understand before it gets repeated to me in English.

On other occasions my Greek question has been answered in English which can be discouraging. My Greek was understood, but the listener knew Greek wasn’t my first language so moved into his own second language of English, which he expected me to understand. I don’t go around with I AM ENGLISH tattooed on my forehead, so I assume people don’t automatically work out I’m English from the way I attempt to speak Greek, or maybe they do?

But then there are times when my first sentences in Greek are interpreted as my having a good understanding of the language, and the listener continues the conversation in Greek which goes straight over my head, so fast I can feel my hair blowing in the breeze created by the words speeding past. And I stand there looking confused, trying to remember how to say I don’t understand. You just can’t win!

Yesterday I visited my landlady for some Greek help. She had corrected a short email I sent her, and I wanted to understand the errors I’d made. She very patiently talked me through these, showing me where I’d use the wrong tense or article, and where my words were correct but I wasn’t saying something the way Greek people would.

I wanted to repay her help, and suggested that I help her children with their English, by writing them a few questions. I asked to see their school books to find out how far they’ve got and I was surprised. A 10 year old was being taught about different verb tenses in a second language. She wasn’t just being told ‘in English you say X’, her workbook explained that this was the simple past. Or she was being asked to answer questions using superlatives and comparatives. This was how she had learned Greek, her first language, and it was being used naturally to teach her a new language.

I brought some of the books back to show Ken.

‘What’s a superlative?’ I asked him. He just looked at me.

‘How about a preposition of place?’ I continued.

‘A what?’ he replied.

I an so envious! I was never taught English in this way (and nor, it seems, was Ken). When it’s your native language and you’re learning as you develop speech so much of what you learn is unconsciously done. So I know I can use the language correctly, I know that I use the simple past when it should be the simple past, not the continuous. I know I use the infinitive in the right place. I use superlatives and prepositions every day. But I couldn’t explain to anyone that this is what I’m doing because I never learned these things specifically in school.

If you really want to make me squirm all you’ve got to do is start talking about subjunctives or prepositions. What’s worse is that I feel I ought to understand them, but it’s become one of those mental stumbling blocks where the harder I try, the less I succeed.  So as far as English is concerned I’m willing to continue in a state of conscious ignorance, trusting to instinct in my use of the language. But that’s not very helpful for my Greek.

One of my big struggles with Greek is verbs. Remembering how the endings change from one tense to another and which ending you use to incorporate the correct subject (I, me, they etc. aren’t used separately, they’re bundled up in the verb ending) is challenging enough, but then I also need to work out exactly which tense to use as well. And this is something where I have no conscious formal understanding from my own language to help me work it out.

Then there are the articles. When you’ve grown up with ‘the’ and ‘a/an’ being used for everything, the number of articles used, depending on case, gender etc. is daunting. Add to that the ‘helpful’ fact that you can put words in different orders in a Greek sentence and it will still mean the same thing, and it’s a good job we’re here for the rest of our lives as there’s a very long way to go.

It’s not all discouraging though: Greek people are often lavish with their compliments. Our car salesman told me my Greek was better than his English – which it definitely isn’t – but it was nice of him to say it, and my landlady complimented my efforts, especially the 2 sentences where there was no yellow highlighting of errors. And I know I’m not taking the easy route as I’m trying to use those things I have most challenges with, like different verb tenses and possessive cases, so in a way I’m setting myself more of a challenge than I might need to.

Now then, did she hit him or was it the other way round. Where’s that workbook…

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Getting Lost in Greece #2

Wednesday, March 4th, 2009

Out and About in the Greek Countryside

I’ve always enjoyed looking at maps and atlases. I don’t know why, but there’s something about a map that really appeals to me. Names of places, routes from one place to another, everything has a fascination. And I always enjoy navigating, especially in unfamiliar areas. Seeing how we’re moving across the map.

It’s something I find frustrating about Greece. It’s not that they don’t have maps, but they’re not really what I’m used to. Back in the UK I had a trusty road atlas that was part way to an ordnance survey map in its detail. The smallest of lanes was included, as were tiny hamlets. Greece just doesn’t seem to have an equivalent. Or if it does, it’s probably only available to military personnel.

Watch out for those giant houses! - our most detailed map of Messinia

Watch out for those giant houses! - our most detailed map of Messinia

The phrase ‘the map is not the territory’ was never more true than in Greece. You could be forgiven for expecting all roads in the same colour on a map to be of a similar quality. Maybe in other countries, but not in Greece. Here it’s quite common to find a road that’s designated as a rough track to be a better quality than one that’s designated as a secondary route. And a secondary route might be better than a primary route. And what a motorway will turn out to be like is anyone’s guess.

So that rough track up ahead, which is in the right place for the turning we’re looking for according to the map, but isn’t the primary road we’re expecting, could easily be what we want. Do we follow it in case, or do we keep driving, hoping there will be a more likely candidate up ahead? It gives every journey the potential for frustration, but also for adventure and discoveries.

I’ve seen British films of WW2 vintage where the signposts were turned round or removed, supposedly to fool the Germans if they ever landed. Maybe the Greeks think they’re still at war with someone, as they have their own version of this. They don’t seem eager to make it easy for people to find their way around. So when we decide to go on a drive off the main roads, we can almost guarantee we’re going to get lost.

Looking at my trusty road map I noticed some villages that apparently had a population of zero. There are a lot of single abandoned houses around here, but I’m fascinated by the idea of abandoned villages, so I suggested we go and check out a couple that were within about 20km of us. Both were clearly marked on 2 maps, so we could find them – right?

Our route to the first village started along roads we’d travelled before, but that didn’t make it any easier. Greek signposts tend to point you in a general direction then leaving you to find your own way (you’re on your own now, son). The map suggests we have to turn left in the village. We look out for the names of several places on our route which might be signposted. But of course there are no signs to guide us.

Driving out the other side of the village we can almost guarantee that the first sign we see will confirm we’re on the wrong road. Another U-turn, another try. And again. Who would have thought that tiny cobbled track would turn out to be the main road?

We risk a right turn onto a dirt road even though there are no signs, on the basis of it being in roughly the right place and going in the general direction. There are ordinary tyre tracks (as opposed to tractor ruts), so we’re not the only ones to come this way – always an encouraging sign. A kilometre or so along we come across a half dozen or so cars, just parked in what seems to be the middle of nowhere. No people around, just cars. Maybe hunters off to shoot some birds?

A little further: sliding through a muddy patch we become the day’s highlight for a group of children playing, a diversion from their normal games. I make a silent prayer that we won’t be driving back in the opposite direction in a few minutes, or I’ll ave to start waving like some celebrity.
Suddenly we’re up on a plateau of land with tracks criss-crossing it at all angles, but no buildings in sight and definitely no abandoned villages. There’s nothing to recommend one track above another so we set off down one until it becomes too rough for the car, then retrace our route and start off in another direction.

Eventually we find a track that seems to be heading in the general direction of a village glimpsed across the valley. Dodging deep ruts caused by recent rain, I walk in front of the car clearing away the larger stones. Another 500m and we’re heading back to civilisation at last. And here it is: a couple of tow trucks, some decidedly muddy cars, and several people looking at us in some surprise.

Oops – it looks like we’ve managed to join the latest stage of a car rally.

We didn’t wait to find out whether we’d won!

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Things we Love About Greece #3

Wednesday, February 4th, 2009

The People.

Okay, I know there are all kinds of people around, but the experiences we’ve had so far of people living here are sufficiently different to our UK experience to merit comment.

Greek people are – in our experience so far – open, friendly and helpful.

Forget the stereotype image of the foreigner who is unwilling to help, to make any allowances. Yes, these people do exist here, and we have encountered one or two, but they’ve been the  minority.

Here are some examples:

Needing stamps for a letter but arriving at the post office after it had closed. The elderly Greek lady who was doing the cleaning opened the door and asked us what we wanted. She then explained the situation to the post office clerk, and got him to serve us.

Driving round and round in ever decreasing circles trying to find a local beach, we found ourselves in a small complex of holiday apartments. An elderly man wandered over to speak to us, but rather than just pointing us in the right direction he invited us to stay for a drink with him and his wife. After an hour or so of conversation that jumped across 4 languages at will, he took us up onto the roof of his house, and pointed out the landmarks we needed to find the right path to the beach.

He waved us off, clutching a bunch of roses from his garden and some fruit, and invited us to return for a glass of wine whenever we wanted.

Then on the beach the other day we were tramping through masses of seaweed that had been thrown up by recent storms. As we approached a house an elderly man insisted we walk across his terrace, right through his family in fact, rather than through the messy, smelly weed.

Greek is a difficult language to learn, and many Greeks are happy to speak in English, but if you want to learn they will often help without being asked. Get a tense or article wrong in a restaurant or shop and they will automatically correct you – but not with any criticism intended. Similarly if you query how to say or pronounce something, they will tell you. My hairdresser, knowing that I want to learn, is always willing to talk slowly and take time to explain things to me.

And then there are the English people…

Gone is the coldness, the lack of eye contact, the rushing around and avoiding everyone that is so common these days in England. Instead many ex-pats seem to have wound back the years to a time when friendliness and helpfulness still existed in England. There is a willingness to get involved in conversation and offer the hand of friendship that goes way beyond the comradeship you might expect of people thrown together in a foreign land.

We’ve been invited to peoples’ homes, offered information and advice, and helped to find our way around some of the bureaucracy by people who’ve been there before us. People we may only have met ten minutes ago exchange names and telephone numbers, and the invitation to meet for a coffee or a meal is genuine rather than just form.

I wish we’d moved here years ago, rather than waiting so long before experiencing this friendliness.

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